


Remembered

by lumosdragon



Category: Macbeth - Shakespeare, SHAKESPEARE William - Works
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-09-23 20:24:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 8,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20346196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumosdragon/pseuds/lumosdragon
Summary: One will be president. The other will be remembered.Macbeth but high school.





	1. Act I, Scene I

The spaces behind the school building were thick and gray, daubed all over by graffiti paint and ugly peeling paper. The ground was littered with damp cigarette stubs, from the packets that they chain-smoked during their meetings. Well, the first and second one smoked. The third one thought that cigarettes tasted gross.

The first one dressed in loose draping cloth – outfits practically cut out of curtains – and they let their hair fall in an inky curtain over their eyes and face. Their hands were thin and white and shaking, until they took the first drag of their cigarette, and then they turned into stone, watching in silence.

The second one had dyed their hair pale yellow, with roots that remained chocolate-dark. They tattooed their skin with neon roses and white words, and painted their eyes in bright rainbow colors. They always had a packet of cigarettes in their pocket.

The third one was unassuming. They wore neat, buttoned clothes and newly polished shoes. They smelled of bread and flowers. Their eyes were the color of hazel-tinted ice.

When the first one spoke, their voice was rusty with disuse. “We gonna meet again?”

The second one didn’t answer right away. They took a last pull on their cigarette, then dropped it on to the pebbly ground and crushed it under their heel. “When the election’s done.”

The silence was not silence; they leaned against the behind-the-school wall and listened to the wind.

The third one spoke. “And...will Macbeth be with us?”

It wasn’t a real question. The longer they let the question sit in the air, the more sure they were of the answer. That was how it always worked. That was how it was always meant to be.

They left behind cigarette smoke and stubs. Otherwise, it was though they had never existed at all.


	2. Act I, Scene II

The sophomore was clearly exhausted, but when he saw Duncan, he did his best to smile. Duncan didn’t dare smile back. Not yet. Not until he knew for sure.

“So...” The words caught in his throat. He needed to know, but he couldn’t ask. He shook his head sharply. This wasn’t the time to be weak.

Malcolm was sitting on his desk. When he saw Duncan’s face, he took matters in his own hands.

“So, what happened? Spit it out.”

The sophomore started. “Well, it was...it was really close. I mean, for a second, it was like...a lot of us thought we were done for. I mean, who seriously expected Macdonwald to turn like that? That was...unexpected. To say the least.”

“We all know about Macdonwald,” Malcolm interrupted, drumming the tabletop with both hands, “What happened in the end?”

“Oh. Uh, Macbeth managed to pull in a whole bunch of votes last minute. He’s really good – he was just, like, talking and stuff, but it worked, people actually bought it. Macbeth and Banquo – you should have seen Macdonwald’s face when he realized what they’d managed to do.”

When he spoke, Duncan’s voice came out choked and strange. “Does that mean...?”

The sophomore grinned. “You won, Duncan. You got one more term as school president.”

Malcolm whooped, banging the desk with more ferocity than ever. Duncan fell into a chair and exhaled.

“_Fuck_...”

“I knew it! I knew you were going to win! As if Macdonwald had a real chance.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Duncan passed a hand over his face and sighed again. “Macbeth and Banquo, huh?”

“Yep. They were campaigning like crazy in the last few minutes – it was intense. Speaking of which...I’m kind of...I mean, I think I’m going to go to bed...”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” Malcolm leaped off his desk and slapped the sophomore on the back. He yelped. “Go to bed. You did good, kid. You deserve it.”

They watched the student stumble out of the classroom, before Malcolm turned to Duncan, beaming. “Mr. President, _sir!_”

“I seriously thought I’d lost,” Duncan confessed, “I seriously thought…wow. Macbeth, huh?”

“I knew he was good –”

“But this good? We owe him, Malcolm. _I _owe him.” He paused, shaking his head. “Jesus. You know where he is now?”

“I’ll get Ross. He can go look.” He hesitated, hovering over Duncan’s seat. “Hey.”

“Huh?”

“Hey!” He waved a hand in front of Duncan’s face. “You won! Cheer up! _Celebrate!_”

“I know, I know. I just…” Duncan took a breath, pressing his palms against his eyes. When he looked up, he was smiling. “I’m good. I’m happy. Go find Macbeth.”

Malcolm scrutinized him for a moment more before shrugging and saluting. “Aye, aye, Mr. President.”


	3. Act I, Scene III

“You’re late.”

The first one held out a trembling hand. The second one pulled their cigarette packet away.

“You’re _late_. Where were you?”

The first one mumbled and whined, shaking their black head, quivering and shivering all over. “One of the freshmen, she was like, she was like…I asked for a – a stick of gum, she was like _get lost_, and – and – and…and I was like –” They snatched out for the cigarettes with their furiously shaking fingers. This time, the second one let the packet go. They waited for the first one to light, pull and fall calm.

“Her boyfriend is sneaky, isn’t he?” asked the second one.

The first one sucked on their cigarette and nodded slowly.

“I think I’ve got some stuff on him,” said the third one.

“I should have something too. It’ll be easy to get that out, and then –”

The third one sat up with a sudden hiss, and the other two went silent. They stood rock-still in the muggy cold air.

“He’s coming,” whispered the third one, “No – _they’re_ coming.” They sank back against the wall, lips pursed. “Interesting. Interesting…”

“Peace!” muttered the first one around the cigarette in their mouth, “The charm’s wound up.”

The second one turned sharply and put a finger to their lips. The first one lit another cigarette. Gray smoke unfurled against the gray sky.


	4. Act I, Scene IV

Banquo was doing the thing where he went out of his way not to step on the cracks. He was leaping and tip-toeing and stumbling around like a particularly bad ballerina, and Macbeth couldn’t ignore it any longer.

“You’re going to fall over and break your head and I swear to God, Banquo, when that happens, I’m just going to laugh.”

Banquo trembled on one foot and almost fell over before managing to catch his balance again. “_Rude_. We’re walking into the den of the Weird Sisters, Macbeth. I can be a little jumpy if I want.”

Macbeth shushed him. “_They’ll hear you_.”

“You think they don’t know that people call them the Weird Sisters? Please. They know everything.” He suddenly halted, grabbing Macbeth’s arm. “Oh fuck, there they are.”

Macbeth could just make out the three figures, shrouded by morning fog and cigarette smoke. He was breathing too quickly, and the air smelled like bitter things decayed.

Banquo’s voice was quiet in his ear. “Are you sure you thought this through?”

He caught a glimpse of paisley fabric, platinum hair, staring eyes. He really did not want to step forward.

“How many times do I have to say this?” He shook Banquo off of his arm and buried his fingers into his hoodie pockets. “I want to do this. I’m sure.”

They were three different people, but when they stood together in a clump by the stone wall like that, it was hard to tell them apart. One being, with six hands and six feet and six staring eyes. Banquo stood back, hopping from foot to foot nervously. They looked at him for a moment, before turning to Macbeth. He had to remind himself not to flinch away.

He wasn’t sure how this worked. He glanced back at Banquo, who caught his eye and shrugged.

He was on his own.

“Uh.” His voice echoed too loud against the empty back-of-the-school walls. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Uh, hey. I, uh, don’t know if you guys know who I am –”

“Macbeth.”

Time seemed to freeze. He turned to stare at the one who had spoken – dripping with white skin and black cloth and ash. The Sister dropped their cigarette and blew out a last stream of smoke.

“All hail Macbeth.”

“What –?” His voice came out in a panicked burst. He stumbled back, almost colliding against Banquo. His heart was pounding in his throat. The Sisters stayed unmoved.

“All hail Macbeth, star of the court.”

“All hail Macbeth, representative of the junior grade.”

“All hail Macbeth, president of the school.”

“That’s – um – I’m not –” The last thing he wanted to do was tell the Weird Sisters was that they were wrong, but nothing they were saying was making sense. “I mean, I am the captain of the basketball team, but –”

“Macbeth, they know everything.” Banquo was still whispering, but he wasn’t nervous anymore; his eyes were wide with incredulous glee. “They never lie. If they say you’re going to be the student council rep for the eleventh grade or even student council president, then that’s what’s going to happen.”

“Banquo.”

Both of them jumped. The Sister who was speaking now was dark-skinned and light-haired, painted all over with pictures too muddled to make out. “_Banquo_. Lesser than Macbeth, but greater.”

“Not so happy, yet much happier.”

The last Sister yawned, slowly, luxuriously, like a cat on a warm windowsill. “You’re not going to be the president. You’re not going to be anything. But, Banquo –” The Sister stared at Banquo, then turned a pointed gaze to Macbeth. “You will be _remembered_.”

“_Banquo and Macbeth, all hail_.”

Macbeth could feel the blood pounding in his ears and head. His mouth tasted metallic, like lightning and storms. There was nowhere to fall.

“We should go,” Banquo murmured.

“No.” He wasn’t sure where the word had come from, but once he said it, he knew what he really wanted. “No, we have to – they need to tell me more. This doesn’t – this doesn’t make sense! I can’t be the junior student council representative; Macdonwald got that last term, and the term before that. And – student council president? Like Duncan would ever make me his vice…”

“It is an election,” Banquo offered.

“Come on. You know as well as I do that no one can has a chance at president if they weren’t vice president before.” He turned back to the Sisters. “Seriously, was this a joke, or – uh…”

They were gone. The ground was littered with cigarette stubs, still smoldering dark gray and red – the only proof that he hadn’t imagined the whole thing.

“Well.” When Banquo spoke, his voice was too loud and too bright. “That was creepy. I’m, uh, just gonna _leave_. If you want, you can join me, or…”

“They talked about you.” Macbeth was surprised at how steady his voice was. He felt dizzy. “They talked about _you_.”

“Not really. Seriously, Macbeth, we should –”

“They said you’ll be _remembered_.” There was something about the way they had said it – they had made it sound so much better than being on the student council. He tried to say something else, but everything was stuck, he couldn’t make it out –

“That’s not, like, a real thing. They said you’d be president –”

“Speaking of the president.”

The two of them started. Ross laughed his hyena laugh as he came forward, and Macbeth cursed.

“Jesus, Ross!”

“Aw, did I scare you?” He snickered. “Duncan told me to thank you guys.”

It was difficult to get used to another person after the Weird Sisters. Mabeth tried to bring his breathing back to a normal pace. He tried to think straight, outside of the clouds of bitter smoke and breeze.

“Thank us for…our campaigning? We were a part of his campaign team. It was our job.”

Ross shrugged, the smirk still twitching on his face. “If that’s how you feel, you can go tell Duncan. He did ask me to offer you the position of student council rep for the eleventh grade, but I guess that wouldn’t interest you.”

_Student council…?_

Macbeth heard Banquo’s hiss – “_Holy shit_.”

His skull felt like it was burning inside out.

“But – but – Macdonwald –?” His voice twisted into a high cracking question. His entire body was burning. Ross looked at him, then at Banquo, then back to him again.

“You guys don’t know, do you? Aw, man, you guys really don’t know!” Ross was cackling. Ross was always laughing. It got really annoying really fast, and somehow that made it easier to drop down from the realm of the Sisters into hard reality. Macbeth took a step forward to spit out something angry, but Banquo moved in before he could open his mouth. “What are you talking about?”

“_Macdonwald!_ Didn’t you hear? He turned against Duncan at the last minute and joined Stephen’s campaign. I think Stephen offered him a position as the next president? Anyway, he’s off Duncan’s team for sure now. So his position goes to you. If you want it, I mean.”

“Of course I want it.” Who wouldn’t want student council representative? Being representative was one step closer to being the president, and that was the most jealously guarded position in the entire council.

The president was the most popular kid in the school. More importantly – he was the most powerful. There was nothing too outrageous for the president. Nothing was impossible.

Macbeth had seen the way people looked at Duncan in the school corridors. It wasn’t even looking, so much as it was staring. They couldn’t turn away.

His throat was dry. His mind was on fire.

_After student council representative. They said I would be…_

“Holy shit,” Banquo whispered. His eyes were huge. “Macbeth, they were _right_. How did they…?”

“You were the one who said they knew everything.”

“Well, yeah, but…it’s still…don’t you think it’s a _little_ creepy?”

“It’s a lot creepy,” Macbeth muttered.

_I’m going to be…president?_

It was definitely creepy – there was no denying that. The Weird Sisters were, well, _weird_, but how the hell could they have known about Macdonwald, when Macbeth himself hadn’t heard?

_You’re student council rep for the eleventh grade. You’re student council rep, and once Duncan’s gone, you’re going to be president. They’ll all stare at you. They’ll all notice you. Without Duncan, there’s just you, and then you’re everything._

“Uh, Macbeth?”

“Huh? What?” Banquo and Ross were watching him. “Sorry, I…yeah. Sorry.”

Duncan wasn’t going to just disappear any time soon. He was the school’s golden boy, and they were going to keep him for as long as they possibly could. He’d probably still be dropping by even after he graduated. Nothing Macbeth was thinking made sense. If he was going to be president, then he’d let it happen in his own time. And if the Weird Sisters were wrong, if it wasn’t going to happen…

_You could be president. And then you’re everything._

“Where is he now?”

“Who? Duncan? He’s waiting in the common room.”

Banquo was still watching him. Macbeth met his eye, tried to tell him – something, maybe just that everything was okay.

Banquo chewed absently on his bottom lip. Finally, he nodded and turned away.

“So…let’s go meet the president.”


	5. Act I, Scene V

As soon as they walked into the room, Malcolm started beating on his desk and whooping. “Here he is! The man himself!”

Duncan smiled – a little wan, but mostly happy. “Macbeth. I heard you were really good out there. Thanks for all your help.”

The Weird Sisters were whispering in his head, touching at his fingers, cold and smoky in his hair and clothes.

Macbeth shrugged. “I said I wanted you to be president, and I meant it. Stephen would have ruined everything.”

“No, seriously. Thanks. You too, Banquo. I just keep thinking…if you guys hadn’t jumped in…”

“I would have had zero chance of becoming the next president,” Malcolm said cheerfully.

“You – what?”

Macbeth was good at holding back. He bit down on the inside of his cheek.

“You’re vice president for this term?”

He had to work to keep his voice from trembling. The Weird Sisters were everywhere. His teeth were digging into his cheek. He tasted something metal and salt – his blood.

“So next term you’ll be president.”

Malcolm shrugged modestly. “Well, it _is_ an election.”

_Oh, please. Don’t give me that shit. You know as well as I do that your position this term is what really matters._

His mouth was dripping with blood.

“Ha ha,” said Macbeth, “Yeah.”

Duncan didn’t seem to notice anything wrong. “Hey, we were all going to get together tonight. To, you know, celebrate the victory. You think we could meet in your room? It’s the biggest. You can bring your Ladies.”

Banquo shrugged. “It’s fine with me. Macbeth?”

“I – yeah, that would be cool. Let me just text the Lady.”

“Macbeth did most of the campaigning anyway,” Banquo continued. He sounded perfectly polite, perfectly ordinary. And why wouldn’t he be? Maybe the news about Malcolm had been surprising for a few seconds, but it just meant that the Weird Sisters weren’t as supernatural as they acted. That shouldn’t have been mind-blowing news to anyone.

Only…Macbeth couldn’t believe it. His mouth tasted of blood. If Malcolm and Duncan were gone –

_They’re not going to _be_ gone. Shut up shut up shut up_.

He was staring down at his cell phone screen. Lady Macbeth would probably want to hear about this. She would know what to do. She always had a plan.

_Not that I need a plan. Shut up, shut up._

But just in case –

_SHUT UP._

He took a breath. She was his girlfriend, he told himself. She deserved to know. He only hesitated a moment before he began to type.

“You’re going to be on my campaign team next term for sure,” Malcolm declared.

Duncan nodded. “There’s no chance you’ll lose with Macbeth.”


	6. Act I, Scene VI

“They met me in the day of success; and I have learn’d by the perfect’st report…blah blah blah…” She scrolled down, clicking her tongue impatiently. “…missives from the King – ooh, okay – missives from the King, who all-hail’d me ‘Student Council Representative’; by which title, before, these weird sisters saluted me, and referr’d me to the coming on of time, with…‘Hail, president that shalt be’.” She paused. “President?”

Lady Macbeth liked to think that she didn’t care. She wore white cocktail dresses, jeans cut into shorts, blazers with polished buttons, football jerseys tied up at her waist – sometimes all at once. She had hacked off half her hair over the summer and dip-dyed the choppy layers in all the colors of a Day-Glo rainbow. She snapped licorice bubblegum and painted her eyelashes sparkly gold and owned a pair of brass knuckles and stomped around in gem-studded boots – because she could. And she would. There was no one who could stop her.

Lady Macbeth knew that anyone could stop her. The boys mewled and purred when she walked by. She flicked her tongue, made the worst gestures she knew. They fell over laughing. The boys liked her. They thought she was funny, they thought she was hot, and as she flashed them a smile, she hoped that they would drop dead.

She let them call her Lady. She spat and snarled, and they thought she was _so cute._ She let them think what they wanted. She hoped they would die. It wasn’t like the world would suddenly crumble away without them.

It wasn’t a feeling that Macbeth understood. Of course not. He was one of them. Not as bad as the worst of the late – she wouldn’t have agreed to date him if he was. She snapped her gum, caught it in her tongue. She scrolled through his texts. “Boring, boring…get to the damn point.”

If Macbeth was president, then she was president too. It was the closest she’d ever get to the position, at least. There was a _reason_ she let them call her Lady Macbeth.

She stopped at the last text he’d sent her. “Party for Duncan? _Oh_. Well, _that_ could be fun.”

Lady Macbeth uncapped designer brand lipstick and applied it in the middle of class. She didn’t care if it got on her chin and teeth. She liked the spots of scarlet.

_If you have to be born a Lady, you might as well make the best of it._

She waited for him to meet her by the bike racks, and as soon as he arrived, she threw her arms around his neck.

“Hey, student rep.” She kissed him once and let him kiss her back. “And president’s the next step? That’s so great!”

“I guess.”

“You _guess?_” She laughed lightly. She drew back. “What do you mean, you_ guess?_”

“I mean that Duncan is still president, and that’s not going to change for the rest of the term. And even if it does –” He stopped. “Look, do you want to come to the party tonight or not?”

He didn’t get it. He was just as agitated as she was, only she could read it clear as day on his face. She wasn’t scared of the other boys. They controlled him far more than they could ever control a Lady. She might have found it sad, if she could have spared some sympathy for the crooning, howling hallway lot.

“I’ll be there,” she said, “_We’ll_ be there.” She took his face in her hands. She kissed him one more time. “This will be…interesting.”

Lady Macbeth was not her real name. But that was okay. Macbeth was a great name, and great names came with great _power_.


	7. Act I, Scene VII

The entire campaign team was there – Malcolm, Donalbain, Lennox, Macduff, Ross, Angus and, of course, Duncan. Macbeth hadn’t really done much to prepare for their arrival. He didn’t have to – he’d always kept his side of the room neat and tidy. Banquo had tried to convince him to get his side presentable as well, but Macbeth had ignored his pleas.

“You’re going to have to pay me to help _you_ get organized.”

“I will pay you, Macbeth. I will actually pay you. I am totally serious about this.”

Banquo had offered up the handful of coins and crumpled bill that he’d been carrying in his pockets, but even then, Macbeth had refused to budge. In the end, Banquo was forced to clean up his own mess. Just moving the huge pile of used clothes from his bed to his closet had taken ages.

“Cool place,” Macduff said.

“Yeah, well…” Banquo shrugged nonchalantly, as though he hadn’t been kicking discarded socks under his bed just a few seconds before.

“Where’s Macbeth?”

Banquo hesitated. Macbeth had disappeared a few minutes before, muttering something about needing some air, ignoring Banquo’s reminders about Duncan’s arrival. He’d tried to text him, but there’d been no response.

There was a light knock on the open door. Lady Macbeth was leaning around the doorway. She looked as bored and beautiful as usual – her rainbow hair falling into her face, her leather dress sparkly and skintight. She had an unlit cigarette hanging from her lips.

“He’ll be here soon,” she drawled.

Every eye in the room was on her. She tilted her head back, sucked on her cigarette. She looked half asleep. The silence lasted only a moment, but it was the loudest silence Banquo had ever heard – thick and heavy, ringing in his ears. Such was the effect of Lady Macbeth. She had started dating Macbeth almost two years back, when she was still the new kid that they’d randomly met at a school dance. She had been angry and snippy, her nails long and black, her hair dyed an obvious tomato red. She danced like she was drunk and talked like she was in a room of idiots. Banquo remembered their first meeting well; he had had to return from the dance to the dorm room alone, because Macbeth and the rage-girl had disappeared together halfway through and he hadn’t been able to find them.

Not much had changed since that first encounter. Lady Macbeth didn’t yell anymore, but somehow her silence made her seem angrier. Banquo got the feeling that she didn’t like him, though he wasn’t sure why – it wasn’t like they had ever even had a real conversation before. Most of the time he assumed that she didn’t like anyone, and that there was nothing special about him.

“We don’t have to wait for him, you know,” Lady Macbeth finally said. She dropped her cigarette, still unlit, and crushed it under the heel of her boot. “We don’t need Macbeth to have a party.”

The other boys immediately started chattering, their voices loud and giddy, reaching out to the girl with the bare shoulders and the drowsy voice. Banquo stared down at the crushed cigarette. It was going to be difficult to get the ashes out of the carpet.

Macbeth would be so pissed.


	8. Act I, Scene VIII

_I wish it was over._

He had forgotten to bring a jacket, and it was cold. His fingers were turning blue. He breathed on them, then shoved them into his pockets.

_They’re going to know it was me. I mean…this is Duncan we’re talking about here. Mister Perfect, the Golden Boy. What was the last thing Duncan did wrong in his life? For Christ’s sake. They’re going to know it was me, and then, and then, and then, I don’t know, bad things happen to people who do bad things. _

He paused briefly to watch a group of bats burst out of a nearby tree and spiral into the inky sky.

_If this is even a bad thing in the first place._

_Of course it’s a bad thing!_ A gust of sharp, icy wind. It was so cold. _He trusts me, he thinks I’m, like, his supporter, his friend. He couldn’t stop thanking me for his campaign. _

_If he was really that grateful, he could have picked me instead of Malcolm. _

_No, shut up, that doesn’t – that doesn’t matter, that’s not the POINT. The point – the point is that this is bad. He’s literally done nothing to you. Not even chosen to make you president. THAT’S NOT THE POINT._

It was so cold. He started running back towards the school, gravel crunching under his feet. He could see his breath escape from his lips in clouds.

_I just…wish it was over._

His phone buzzes in his pocket. He slowed as he reached the back door of the boys’ dormitories.

Banquo had been texting him on and off all evening, but it wasn’t Banquo this time, it was Lady Macbeth, the last person he wanted to hear from.

He didn’t want to read what she’d written. He leaned against a wall, fumbling to pick out her number from his contacts. His fingers were freezing.

It took her ages to answer. He exhaled and watched the fog of his own breathing.

She didn’t bother greeting him when she picked up. “_Where the hell are you?_”

“Are they asking for me?”

“Well, they were, until I distracted them. But it’s been hours. Someone’s going to notice soon.”

It was so cold. “We can’t do this.”

There was silence on the other end of the line. He could hear faint laughter and cheering, and Lady Macbeth’s breathing.

“What did you say?”

The words stuck in his throat, but he had no choice but to force them out. “We can’t do this. _I_ can’t do this.”

“We already talked about this.” Her eyes would be narrowed, her lip would be curled. He had seen that look on her face before. “You said you wanted this. We agreed that you wanted this. And now you’re backing out last minute – You know, this is just so typical. You always say you want one thing and do another.”

“That’s not –”

“That’s _exactly_ what this is. So _typical_.”

“It’s not _right_,” he tried. His voice rose, high and desperate. He hated the way it sounded. He wanted to break a hole in the wall with his fist.

Her voice was low and steady. He didn’t want to listen, but he couldn’t bring himself to just hang up on her. “If I was the one who wanted this, I wouldn’t be wandering around outside the school past hours feeling sorry for myself. I would have sucked it up and gotten it _done_. You _want_ this, Macbeth. So _do _something about it.”

The Weird Sisters had been living inside his head all day, and he couldn’t do anything to dispel them. He wanted it so badly his stomach ached when he thought about it.

“What if they find out it’s us?”

“They won’t, if you actually manage to grow a pair. A possibility that is looking less likely by the second.” She paused to let the words sink in. “Look, I can keep them occupied for maybe another half an hour. It’s not going to take more than fifteen minutes to get into Duncan’s room and get out. Do you think you could do that, Macbeth? Do you think you could get in and get out?”

His fingers were wrapped into fists. He just managed to avoid hitting something.

“You keep being the good hostess. I’ll be there. Fifteen minutes.”

He ended the call before she could say anything more. He was so cold. He took a breath, shook his head and slipped into the dormitory building.


	9. Act II, Scene I

The entire day had been insane. First the election, then the creepy meeting with the Weird Sisters, then Duncan’s party… Banquo had expected to fall asleep as soon as his head hit his pillow, but for some reason, that didn’t happen. He tossed and turned for almost an hour, trying to get the buzz in his mind to die down. Eventually he pulled himself up and opened his laptop. He was reading an e-mail from his little brother Fleance when the room door slammed shut.

Banquo jumped. “What the hell!”

“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to do that,” Macbeth whispered, “It’s just me.”

It was one in the morning. Macbeth stood by the doorway for a moment, surveying the room. “This place is a mess.”

“And for once it isn’t my fault.” Banquo watched as Macbeth began to tidy up. He moved slowly and methodically, putting fallen items back in place, dropping trash into the waste basket, step by step, piece by piece. The only light came from the moon and the muted glare of Banquo’s laptop screen.

“We can clean later – maybe when it’s not the middle of the night?” Macbeth didn’t pay any attention to him, of course. “Jeez. You’re like someone’s mother. Mombeth. Where were you? Your girlfriend came, and you didn’t.”

“Did anyone seriously care?”

“No, but only because of Lady Macbeth. I never noticed before, but she’s really good.”

Macbeth looked up. His eyes were startlingly bright in the dark. “What do you mean?”

“Oh. You know. She’s good at, like – party stuff, I guess.”

Macbeth was silent, and then he chuckled quietly to himself. “Yeah, I guess she _is_ pretty good. When she wants to be.”

Banquo didn’t know what to say. Whenever conversation turned to Lady Macbeth, he wasn’t sure what was appropriate and what was not. He wondered why Macbeth didn’t just break up with her. He had never asked him about it.

“Duncan might want to talk to you tomorrow.”

“So?”

“So what are you going to tell him?”

Macbeth kicked at a wad of paper on the carpet. “Who cares what I say?”

Banquo had no answer to that. Macbeth picked up the paper and shot it across the room, right into the waste basket. Usually he’d whisper a little triumphant _“yes”_ after making a trash can shot. This time, he stayed silent.

“Is this about the Weird Sisters?” Banquo finally asked. Macbeth started.

“…what about them?”

“It’s just – you’ve been acting really weird since we talked to them. I thought…maybe…” He hesitated, but only for a moment. It was late, and he was sleepy, and words were tumbling from his mouth before he could think about them. “Look, whatever’s going to happen…it doesn’t matter. There’s nothing you can do, so there’s no point thinking about it.”

Macbeth’s voice was so quiet that Banquo could hardly hear him at first. “I’m not thinking about it.”

Fleance’s e-mail was still open on the screen. Banquo closed his laptop.

They sat in the darkness for a while. Macbeth was a silent silhouette, half-kneeling on the floor, his head bowed.

When he finally spoke, he was loud enough to make Banquo start.

“You said they never lie. You said they know everything.”

“I – yeah, I guess I did say that, didn’t I.” He scratched the back of his neck. His hair was growing out. His mother would make him cut it as soon as he went home for the term vacation. “But –”

Macbeth turned sharply. “But?”

Something was wrong. Banquo suddenly felt – almost unsafe. He knew it didn’t make sense, but he couldn’t help it. It was like being in an underwater aquarium and getting a chill whenever the sharks swam by. Nothing could touch him, but he couldn’t get rid of the feeling that against all odds, something might anyway.

“Forget it,” he finally muttered, “I…I’m going to sleep. Just – don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

At first there was only silence. Then – the strangest sound. Like someone choking. For one bewildered second, Banquo thought Macbeth was crying. But when Macbeth looked up, his mouth was torn open not in sorrow, but in laughter.

Banquo stayed frozen in his bed while Macbeth cackled. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what to say. It might have been better if he had been crying after all. A whole school of sharks swam by.

“Sure, Banquo,” Macbeth finally managed, “Nothing too stupid. Whatever you say.”

He smiled his best basketball captain smile, all white teeth and shiny eyes. Banquo couldn’t bring himself to smile back.


	10. Act II, Scene II

_Is this a dagger which I see before me, the handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee._

_You’re dreaming about people. You’re dreaming about faces. They’re looking at you. No – it’s not looking, so much as it is gazing. They can’t turn away. Open mouths filled with white teeth and open faces filled with shiny eyes. They all stare at you. They all notice you. You’re everything. You reach out and feel the sea of their hands, soft and warm against yours. When you speak, they listen. You’re everything. Your voice is huge and round and silvered, and they rise to you like the ocean to the moon. You are the moon – huge and round and silvered. Far away, forever seen. You’re everything. Without Duncan, there’s just you, and then you’re_

_everything…_

He woke up to the trill of his phone. He blinked, sat up and rubbed at his eyes. He was fully clothed, sprawled on his bed, the sheets tangled around his legs. It took a few tries to unlock his phone and peer at the text.

**Lady Macbeth: IT’S DONE**

The words were almost blindingly black on his cell phone screen. He squinted, reading them again and again and again and again. His head was swimming.

He glanced across the room. Banquo was curled up in his bed, buried under his usual mountain of blankets and pillows. For a moment, he considered going over and shaking him awake. He wanted to stay up eating disgusting food from packets and streaming bad horror movies on his laptop. They did that sometimes. Every time he finished a horror movie, Banquo swore that he would never watch another one. He was bad at following his own resolutions.

He wished he had his own blanket-pillow fort to sleep inside.

His ringtone suddenly cut through the silence. He stabbed wildly at icons, cursing under his breath until he’d silenced it. Banquo’s bed-mountain shifted slightly, then went still again.

It was her. He ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek. It was torn and raw and tasted faintly of blood.

He redialed and put the phone to his ear.


	11. Act II, Scene III

She didn’t contact him immediately after making the call. She went back to her room first. She didn’t want to turn on the lights and risk waking her roommate. In the pitch dark, she could barely make out her own face in the mirror, but she decided to do her best with what she had. She rubbed at her eyes and cheeks and lips with wet wipes, and then she opened her makeup bag. She tried to figure out what was what from feel alone. The lipstick was fairly easy to apply, even if she couldn’t see which color she was using. She poked herself in the eye with her mascara wand not once, but twice. She gave up completely on her eye shadow, finally choosing to randomly stab at her palette and smudge whatever got on her fingers across her lids. Once that was done, she changed into a new outfit – some lacy black thing she’d gotten on sale but never been able to wear because of school dress codes. She brushed out her hair, pulled on a pair of velvet pumps and then picked up her phone.

He didn’t respond to her first text, and he didn’t pick up her first call either. She didn’t mind. She lay down on her bed, touching her face, tracing her features with one finger. Her hair fanned out on her pillow. She closed her eyes and exhaled.

When he called back, she let the phone vibrate for a minute or two before picking up.

“Hello?” she murmured.

“So it’s all finished?”

She held her hand up in front of her face and tried to examine her nails.

“May I know who’s speaking?”

He let out a string of explosive whispered expletives. She smiled to herself.

“_Did you call them?_”

“Yes,” she sighed, “Did _you_ do what I asked?”

He was silent for a moment. She let her hand drop. She sat up. She could feel the panic rising in her throat.

“_Did_ you?”

“I did, I did.” He was breathing too fast. “_Fuck_.”

“Macbeth, if you did something stupid –”

“_Of course I fucking did something stupid_. This whole thing was stupid! I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”

“Excuse me? I didn’t talk you into anything. I only helped you get what you want.” She suddenly realized how much she didn’t want to be having this conversation. She wanted to be eating an entire pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream. She wanted to be sleeping. She was so tired.

“Duncan trusted me. I joined his campaign team because he was my friend, I actually wanted to help him. If he…if something happens…it’ll ruin him. I can’t believe I –” He broke off, inhaling sharply. “_Shit shit shit shit someone’s knocking on my door._”

“It’s way past lights out,” she snapped, “You’re imagining things.”

He stayed breathing heavily on the other end. “I…I guess you’re right.”

She decided to pick up where he’d left off. She didn’t think she could bear it if he decided to go on another guilt-ridden spiel by himself. “You keep talking like Duncan’s some perfect human being.”

“Well, he is kind of –”

“He’s not anything. You’re in his circle. He notices you and he needs you; there’s nothing in it for him if he treats you badly. Of course you’re going to see him as this totally great guy. I’m not in his circle. Some totally great guy he is – I bet you’ve never noticed the way he looks at and talks to…to other people. It’s disgusting. The ones with the power in this school are the ones who don’t notice what actually needs to be _changed_, and they just let people like Duncan stay where they are, and then –” She was getting too close to the truth; her voice was beginning to tremble. She paused to collect herself before she continued. “No matter what you do, you’ll be a better student council president than Duncan. You’re doing the school a favor. Get yourself together and _move on_.”

Macbeth didn’t respond right away. “I could swear I heard knocking.”

She was so done with him. “Go to bed, Macbeth. Before you end up going completely insane.” She hung up before he could say anything more. She didn’t bother changing or washing off; she crawled under her bed sheets, squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to pray.


	12. Act II, Scene IV

Someone was knocking. Someone was definitely knocking. _Wake up_. Macbeth forced himself to open his eyes, but the knocking continued. He was still dreaming.

No, someone was actually knocking on the door. He lay in bed for a while, blinking, willing himself to get up. Finally, he managed to sit up and let his feet drop to the floor.

The knocking was accompanied by someone calling his name. He shuffled over to the door and yanked it open.

Macduff was pacing impatiently in the hallway. Lennox leaned against the wall behind him. “Finally! What took you so long?”

Macbeth stared at them with bleary eyes. “It’s six in the morning. It’s Saturday. It’s six in the morning on a Saturday. What are you doing here?”

It was hard to feel like he was really awake. For one thing, there was Macduff’s restless striding and half-untucked shirt and mussed-up coif. Macbeth couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Macduff ruffled. There were rumors that Duncan had specifically wanted Macduff for his campaign team because of his perfect-male-model image. Macduff was the star of the swim team, with a triangle for a body and flawless hair. He had a girlfriend, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t also have his own little fan club – a group of girls that came to all his swim meets and screamed for him when he won, which was all the time. He usually took care to maintain his impeccable persona. To see him running around unkempt was a little surreal.

“We tried to tell you as soon as we heard,” he was burbling, “I think Lennox tried knocking on your door last night?” He turned to Lennox, who nodded once in confirmation. “I guess you guys didn’t hear.”

_The knocking_. It was starting to come back to him in bits and pieces, things he wanted to forget, things he hoped he was making up. He leaned against the door frame.

“What happened?”

Macduff stopped pacing to stare with huge helpless calf-eyes. “Duncan’s going to be expelled.”

“What.” Macbeth could remember cigarettes and three people that were actually one creature – or was it the other way around? He could remember running through the freezing nighttime, with the sound of his own breathing in his ears. He blinked, tried again. “What?”

“Macbeth!”

The three of them turned to see Lady Macbeth hurrying down the hall towards them. Macbeth gaped at her as she neared.

“What the hell happened to you?”

Her face looked like a little kid’s finger-paint project. Colors stained her eyebrows and forehead. Thin black lines ran down the side of her face. She absently rubbed lipstick off her cheek, tinting her fingers dark crimson.

“I came as soon as I heard,” she said, “Is it true?”

She was wearing a dress of lace and gauze, and Macduff and Lennox were staring at her. When she questioned them, it took them a while to notice.

“Oh, uh…yeah, according to Malcolm. He’s the only one who actually got to talk to Duncan.”

Lady Macbeth slumped against the wall, shaking her head slowly back and forth. “Unbelievable. If you had asked me to pick any one person in this school who would be caught with drugs, I swear to god, Duncan would have been my very last choice. How the hell did they find out?”

“Apparently they received an anonymous call at like two in the morning.”

“_Unbelievable_.” She turned to Macbeth. Her eyes were dark and intense. “Can you believe this?”

Macbeth opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. Did she really not remember what she’d had him plant in Duncan’s room the night before? It had been her plan. Hadn’t it? Or had he imagined the whole thing?

She tugged on his arm – a little too hard. Her teeth gnashed when she talked. “Can you _believe_ this?”

He closed his mouth. Opened it. “Duncan was caught with drugs?”

He didn’t know how she was so good at this. He had never been able to lie – definitely not like she could.

“Macbeth? What – what’s happening?”

Banquo had finally woken up. He was still yawning and rubbing at his eyes as he peered sleepily at the crowd by the door.

Macbeth tried to figure out how to frame the words in an appropriately shocked and incredulous manner. When that failed, he decided to stick with the straightforward approach. “Apparently Duncan was caught with drugs.”

Banquo stared at him, then at Macduff, then Lady Macbeth. Then back to Macbeth.

“Duncan who?”

“How many Duncans do you know, Banquo?” He was starting to sound angry. Banquo didn’t seem to notice.

“I know the president Duncan. But the president Duncan doesn’t do drugs. Or even if he does, he’d never be caught with ‘em.” He yawned again. “Are you talking about _pharmaceutical_ drugs?”

“_No, I’m not talking about pharmaceutical drugs._” He was starting to _feel_ angry. He turned away from Banquo to glare at Macduff and Lennox. “Where is Malcolm now anyway? He’s the vice president, right? Shouldn’t he be doing something about this?”

Macduff shrugged. “I don’t know, man.” His gaze wandered to Banquo staring groggily from his bed before flicking back to Macbeth’s face. “I – I should probably go. You guys should get ready; they’re going to want to talk to us about what happened.”

Lady Macbeth waited until Macduff and Lennox were definitely out of sight.

“Would you ever have guess?” she said lightly, “Duncan, of all people.”

She smiled. She stood on her toes to kiss him. He could feel her body through the thin fabric of her dress.

“See you later?” And then she was dancing down the hallway, back to the girls’ dormitory.

“Were they serious about Duncan?” Banquo asked.

“I don’t know,” Macbeth muttered. He started to make his bed. His fingers were trembling.

_Without Duncan, there’s just you, and then you’re everything. _

_All hail Macbeth._


	13. Act II, Scene V

“You know he was set up.”

Malcolm was slumped against the wall, his head in his hands. Donalbain hovered uncertainly at the foot of his bed.

“Duncan’s always been completely clean. He barely even drank. There’s no way…” Malcolm shook his head. “They’re going to think it was either you or me.”

“Why me?”

“You think it wasn’t obvious to everyone that I was going to make you vice as soon as I became president?” Malcolm laughed. It came out awkward and hollow. “So much for that plan.”

Donalbain didn’t want to ask. Saying the words out loud would make the whole situation seem too real, too desperate, too out of their control. He asked anyway.

“What do we do now?”

Malcolm looked up. His face was pale but set. “We don’t have a choice. We’re going to have to resign.”


	14. Act II, Scene VI

The principal was quiet for a while – long enough to make Ross start to feel uncomfortable. He shifted in his seat, trying to shake off the weight of his silence.

“Duncan, of all people…” the principal finally murmured.

“Huh? I – I mean – yeah. It’s…it was…unexpected.”

The principal didn’t seem to notice Ross’s clumsiness. He took a breath, folded his hands and faced him with new graveness. “I expect you know why I’ve called you here.”

“I…um…actually, sir, I’m not really sure.”

“You’ve always been a reliable source, Ross.” The principal leaned in a little closer. “I need you to tell me – can anyone else in the student council be linked to this?”

“Oh – no! No. Not as far as I know, anyway.”

He wanted to get up and leave the office. He’d always had trouble conversing with people of authority. When Macduff entered the room, he almost sighed in relief.

“Ah, Macduff!” The principal gestured for him to take a seat, which he did. “I was just talking to Ross here. Have you learned anything new about this unfortunate incident?”

“Not really,” Macduff muttered. He wasn’t meeting anyone’s eye, preferring instead to stare down at his loafers. “Except – I’m not sure how closely this is linked to Duncan’s thing, but Malcolm and Donalbain both resigned from the student council.”

Both the principal and Ross drew back in shock.

“You’re kidding!”

“I wish. We have two options now. Either we all resign as the student council and hand over the position to Stephen’s team –”

“Like hell!”

“– or we pass the position of president to the next in power. Which would be the eleventh grade representative.”

Ross was momentarily uneasy, and then he remembered. “Wait – that’s Macbeth.” He laughed too loudly, finally reassured. “Sure. Macbeth’s cool. I mean, we could have done a lot worse.”

“Yeah,” Macduff said, after a moment’s pause, “I guess.”

“I trust that the council will ensure that the transfer of power happens swiftly and without fuss,” the principal interrupted, “There’s no point drawing unnecessary attention to…well…”

“We understand,” Macduff said politely.

“Good. Good.” The principal leaned back in his chair, fingers interlocked. “Thank you for your time, boys. You may be excused.”

“Thank you, sir.” Ross bounded from his seat, his usual cocky grin creeping back on to his face, with Macduff following – slowly.

_God’s benison go with you, and with those that would make good of bad, and friends of foes…_


End file.
